‘It isn’t that at all!’ flamed Horatia. ‘Only I f-found out that he had planned the R-Ranelagh affair with that odious Lady M-Massey.’
The Viscount stared at her. ‘You’re raving!’ he said calmly.
‘I’m not. She was there, and she knew!’
‘Who told you he planned it with her?’
‘W-well, no one precisely, but Lethbridge thought so, and of course I realized –’
‘Lethbridge!’ interrupted the Viscount with scorn. ‘Upon my word, you’re a damned little fool, Horry! Lord don’t be so simple! A man don’t plot with his mistress against his wife. Never heard such a pack of nonsense!’
Horatia sat up. ‘P-Pel, do you really think so?’ she asked wistfully. ‘B-but I can’t help remembering that he said she d-did indeed know it was he all the t-time.’
The Viscount regarded her with frank contempt. ‘Well if he said that it proves she wasn’t in it – if it needs proof, which it don’t. Lord, Horry, I put it to you, would he be likely to say that if she’d had a finger in the pie? What’s more, it explains why the Massey’s gone off to Bath so suddenly. Depend on it, if she found out it was he in the scarlet domino they had some sort of a scene, and Rule’s not the man to stand that. Wondered what happened to make her go off in such a devil of a hurry. Here, what the deuce – ?’ For Horatia, with a sudden squeak of joy, had flung herself into his arms.
‘Don’t do that,’ said the Viscount testily, disengaging himself.
‘Oh, P-Pel, I never thought of that!’ sighed Horatia.
‘You’re a little fool,’ said the Viscount.
‘Yes, I see I am,’ she confessed. ‘B-but if he has b-broken with that woman, it makes me more than ever decided not to tell him about l-last night.’
The Viscount thought this over. ‘I must say it’s a devilish queer story,’ he said. ‘Daresay you’re right. If we can get that brooch back you’re safe enough. If Pom don’t succeed –’ His lip tightened, and he nodded darkly.
Sir Roland, meanwhile, had arrived in Half-Moon Street, and was fortunate enough to find Lord Lethbridge at home.
Lethbridge received him in a gorgeous flowered dressing-gown. He did not look to be much the worse for the blow he had received, and he greeted Sir Roland with suave amiability. ‘Pray sit down, Pommeroy,’ he said. ‘To what do I owe this unexpected honour?’
Sir Roland accepted the chair, and proceeded to display his tact. ‘Most unfortunate thing,’ he said. ‘Last night – not quite myself, you know – lost a brooch. Must have dropped out of my cravat.’
‘Oh?’ said Lethbridge, looking at him rather hard. ‘A pin, in fact?’
‘Not a pin, no. A brooch. Family jewels – sometimes wear it – don’t care to lose it. So I came round to see if I dropped it here.’
‘I see. And what is it like, this brooch?’
‘Ring-brooch; inner circle pearls and openwork bosses, outer row pearls and diamonds,’ said Sir Roland glibly.
‘Indeed? A lady’s ornament, one would almost infer.’
‘Belonged to my great-aunt,’ said Sir Roland, extricating himself from that predicament with masterly skill.
‘Ah, no doubt you value it highly then,’ remarked his lordship sympathetically.
‘Just so,’ said Sir Roland. ‘Sentiment, you know. Should be glad to put my hand on it again.’
‘I regret infinitely that I am unable to help you. May I suggest that you look for it in Montacute’s house? I think you said you spent the evening there?’
‘I didn’t lose it there,’ replied Sir Roland firmly. ‘Naturally went there first.’
Lethbridge shrugged. ‘How very unfortunate! I fear you must have dropped it in the street.’
‘Not in the street, no. Remember having it on just before I came here.’
‘Dear me!’ said Lethbridge. ‘What makes you remember so particularly?’
Sir Roland took a moment to think this out. ‘Remember it because Pel said: “That’s a queer tie-pin, Pom.” And I said: “Belonged to my great-aunt.” Then we came here. Must have had it on then.’
‘It would certainly seem so. But perhaps you lost it after you left my house. Or do you remember that Winwood then said: “Where’s your tie-pin?”’
‘That’s it,’ said Sir Roland, grateful for the assistance. ‘Pel said: “Why, what’s become of your tie-pin, Pom?” Didn’t come back – time getting on, you know. Knew it would be safe here!’
Lethbridge shook his head. ‘I fear your recollection is not very clear, Pommeroy. I have not got your brooch.’
There was nothing for Sir Roland to do after that but to take his leave. Lord Lethbridge escorted him out into the hall, and sweetly bade him farewell. ‘And do pray advise me if you succeed in finding the brooch,’ he said with great civility. He watched his crestfallen visitor go off down the steps, and transferred his gaze to the porter’s face. ‘Send Moxton to me,’ he said, and went back into the saloon.
In a few moments his butler appeared. ‘My lord?’
‘When this room was swept this morning, was a brooch found?’ asked Lethbridge.
The lids descended discreetly over the butler’s eyes. ‘I have not heard of it, my lord.’
‘Make inquiries.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
While the butler was out of the room, Lethbridge stood looking out of the window, slightly frowning. When Moxton came back he turned. ‘Well?’
‘No, my lord.’
The frown lingered. ‘Very well,’ Lethbridge said.
The butler bowed. ‘Yes, my lord. Your lordship’s luncheon is served.’
Lethbridge went into the dining-room, still attired in his dressing-gown, still wearing a thoughtful, puzzled look on his face.
He sat for some time over his meal, absently sipping his port. He was not, as he had told Caroline Massey, the man to gnash his teeth over his own discomfiture, but the miscarriage of last night’s plans had annoyed him. That little vixen wanted taming. The affair had become tinged, in his mind, with a sporting element. Horatia had won the first encounter; it became a matter of supreme importance to force a second one, which she would not win. The brooch seemed to present him with the opportunity he lacked – if only he could lay his hand on it.
His mind went back; his acute memory re-created for him the sound of ripping lace. He raised his glass to his lips, savouring the port. Ah, yes, undoubtedly the brooch had been lost then. No doubt a distinctive trinket, possibly part of the Drelincourt jewels. He smiled a little, picturing Horatia’s dismay. It could be turned into a shrewd weapon, that ring-brooch – wielded in the right hands.
The brooch was not in his house, unless his servants were lying. He did not, for more than a fleeting moment, suspect any of them of theft. They had been with him some years; probably knew that he was an ill master to cheat.
The image of Mr Drelincourt’s face flashed across his mind. He set down his glass. Crosby. Such a sharp-eyed fellow, Crosby. But had he had the opportunity to pick up a brooch from the floor unseen? He went over his movements during that brief visit. Crosby’s arrival: no chance then. The departure of Winwood and Pommeroy. Had he taken them to the door? No. Still no chance for Crosby. Some talk he had had with him, not very much, for his head had been aching furiously, and then what? His fingers closed again around the stem of his glass, and instantly he remembered drinking a glass of wine to steady himself. Yes, certainly a chance for Crosby then. He had tossed off the wine, and turned. Now, had Crosby had one hand in his pocket? The picture lived again; he could see Crosby standing behind a chair, looking at him, withdrawing his hand from his pocket.
Really, it was quite amusing. There was no proof, of course, not a shadow of proof, but perhaps a visit to Crosby might be not unfruitful. Yes, one might hazard a guess that the brooch was an heirloom. Crosby – an astute fellow: quite needle-sharp
– would recognize a Drelincourt heirloom. Decidedly a visit to Crosby was likely to repay one for one’s trouble. Crosby, no doubt, was hatching a little plan to make mischief between Rule and his bride. Well, he would spare Crosby the pains. There should be mischief enough, but more mischief than the mere displaying of a brooch.
He got up from the table, and went in a leisurely fashion up the stairs, still revolving these delectable thoughts in his head. What a surprise for dear Crosby to receive a call from my Lord Lethbridge! He rang his hand-bell for his valet, and discarding his dressing-gown, sat down before the mirror to complete his elaborate toilet.
On his way, an hour later, to Mr Drelincourt’s lodging, he looked in at White’s but was told upon inquiry that Mr Drelincourt had not been into the Club that day. He went on towards Jermyn Street, twirling his ebony cane.
Mr Drelincourt lived in a house owned by a retired gentleman’s gentleman, who himself opened the door to his lordship. He said that Mr Drelincourt was gone out.
‘Perhaps,’ said his lordship, ‘you can give me his direction.’
Oh, yes, that could easily be done. Mr Drelincourt was gone out of town, and had taken a small cloak-bag with him.
‘Out of town, eh?’ said his lordship, his eyes narrowing. He drew a guinea from his pocket, and began to juggle gently with it. ‘I wonder, can you tell me where, out of town?’
‘Yes, my lord. To Meering,’ replied Mr Bridges. ‘Mr Drelincourt desired me to hire a post-chaise for him, and set off at two o’clock. If your lordship had come twenty minutes ago, you’d have caught him.’
Lethbridge dropped the guinea into his hand. ‘I may still catch him,’ he said, and ran lightly down the steps of the house.
Hailing a hackney, he had himself driven back to Half-Moon Street. His household found itself goaded into sudden activity; a footman was sent off to the stables to order my lord’s light post-chaise and four to be brought round immediately, and my lord went upstairs, calling to his valet to bestir himself, and lay out a travelling dress. In twenty minutes his lordship, now clad in a coat of brown cloth, with his sword at his side, and top-boots on his feet, came out of the house again, gave his postilions certain pithy instructions, and climbed up into the chaise, a light carriage very like a sedan, slung on whip springs over very high wheels. As the equipage rounded the corner into Piccadilly, heading westwards, his lordship leaned back at his ease, calm in the knowledge that no hired post-chaise and four could hope to reach Meering, even with an hour’s start, before being overtaken by him.
Sixteen
Mr Drelincourt, as it happened, had no idea that Lord Lethbridge could be on his heels.
Not dreaming that anybody, least of all my Lord Lethbridge, had discovered his theft of the brooch, he saw no need to make haste down to Meering, and put off starting on his journey until after luncheon. Mr Drelincourt, though lavish in dress and some matters, was very careful how he spent money on small items. The hiring of a chaise to carry him thirty-three miles into the country cost him a pang, and to pay, on top of that, possibly as much as four or five shillings for lunch at an inn would have seemed to him a gross extravagance. By lunching at his lodgings he would not be put to the necessity of baiting on the road at all, for he thought he would arrive at Meering in time to dine with his cousin. He would put up for the night there, and if Rule did not offer him one of his own carriages for his return it would be a shabby piece of behaviour, and one which he did not at all anticipate, for Rule, to do him justice, was not mean, and must be well aware that the charges for a post-chaise would be lightened if it made the return journey empty.
It was in a pleasurable frame of mind that Mr Drelincourt set forward upon his journey. The day was fine, quite ideal for a drive into the country, and after he had let down the window in the door in front of him to order the postilions not to ride at such a rattling pace, he had nothing to do but to lean back and admire the scenery or indulge his imagination in agreeable reflection.
It was not to be supposed that there was any portion of the Drelincourt inheritance unknown to Mr Drelincourt. He had recognized the brooch in a flash, and could have recited unerringly the different pieces which comprised that particular set of jewels. When he had stooped so quickly to pick it up he had had no very clear idea in his head of what he meant to do with it, but a night’s repose had brought him excellent counsel. He had no doubt at all that Horatia had been concealed somewhere in Lethbridge’s house; the brooch proved that to his satisfaction, and ought to prove it to Rule’s satisfaction also. He had always thought Horatia a jade; for his part he was not in the least surprised (though shocked) to discover that she had taken advantage of Rule’s absence to spend the night in her lover’s arms. Rule, who was always too stupidly sleepy to see what was going on under his nose, would probably be greatly surprised, and even more shocked than his cousin, whose obvious and not too painful duty it was to appraise him of his wife’s loose conduct at once. There could be only one course open to his lordship then, and Mr Drelincourt was inclined to think that after so disastrous a venture into matrimony, he would hardly risk another.
Altogether the world seemed a better place to Mr Drelincourt this mild September day than it had seemed for several months.
Not in the general way a keen student of Nature, he was moved today to admire the russet tints in the trees, and to approve from the well-sprung chaise the bursts of fine country through which he passed.
Meering being situated near Twyford, in the county of Berkshire, the road to it led out of town by way of Knightsbridge and Hammersmith to Turnham Green and Hounslow, where at the George Inn the chaise stopped to change horses. The two postilions, who had formed the poorest opinion of Mr Drelincourt from the moment of his commanding them not to drive too fast, were disgusted by his conduct at the George, for instead of getting down to drink a glass of Nantes brandy, and allowing them time also to refresh themselves, he sat tight in the chaise, and never gave the ostler so much as a groat.
The second stage was Slough, ten miles farther on. The chaise set forward again, drawing out of Hounslow on to the heath, a tract of wild land so ill-famed that for several unpleasant minutes Mr Drelincourt sat wishing that he had gone to the expense of hiring a guard to accompany the chaise. Nothing untoward happened, however, and he was soon being driven over Cranford Bridge in the direction of Longford.
At Slough Mr Drelincourt got down to stretch his legs, while the horses were changed. The landlord, who had come bustling out of the Crown Inn as a good landlord should on the approach of a gentleman’s chaise, allowed the jolly smile to fade from his face at the sight of Mr Drelincourt, and abated a little of his welcoming civility. Mr Drelincourt was well known upon this road, and no favourite with honest landlords. Since he was my Lord of Rule’s relative, Mr Copper went through the form of suggesting refreshment, but upon this being refused, he went back to his inn, remarking to his wife that the one thing in life that beat him was how a genial, open-handed gentleman like his lordship came to have such a mean worm as Mr Drelincourt for his cousin.
After Slough, the road ran by way of Salt Hill to Maidenhead. A mile further on, at Maidenhead Thicket, it branched off from the Worcester way, and took the Bath Road to Hare Hatch and Twyford.
The chaise had passed through Maidenhead, and was bowling along at a respectable pace towards the Thicket, when one of the postilions became aware of a second chaise some way behind. A bend in the road enabled him to get a glimpse of it. He said over his shoulder to the other postilion: ‘Lordy, that’ll be the Quality, sure enough! Springing his horses, he is. No good racing him with our precious Missy squawking at the back of us.’
The lad riding one of the wheelers understood him to refer to Mr Drelincourt, and agreed, though regretfully, that they had better draw into the side and let the Quality go by.
The thunder of hooves galloping in the rear soon penetrated to Mr Drelincourt’s ears and caused hi
m to rap with his cane on the window, and upon the postilion’s looking over his shoulder, to signal to him to draw in to the side of the road. Mr Drelincourt had had experience of good-for-nothing lads who raced their horses against other chaises, and he disapproved strongly of this pastime.
The second chaise rapidly overhauled the first and swung past in a little cloud of dust struck up by the galloping hooves. Mr Drelincourt had the briefest view of it but caught sight of the flash of a crest on one of the panels. He felt much annoyed with the unknown traveller for driving at such a pace, and was uneasily hoping that his postilions were able to control their own horses (which showed signs of wishing to dash off after the other chaise) when he saw that the other chaise was pulling up ahead of them. That seemed very strange to him, for there was no apparent reason to account for it. It seemed stranger still when the horses wheeled and backed, and wheeled again, till the chaise lay right across the road, effectively barring the way.
Mr Drelincourt’s postilions, also observing this manœuvre, supposed the other chaise to have overshot its objective, and to be about to turn round again. They reined their horses to a walk. But the crested chaise remained across the road, and they were forced to come to a standstill.
Mr Drelincourt, considerably astonished, sat forward to see more closely, and called to his postilions: ‘What is it? Why don’t they go on? Is it an accident?’
Then he saw Lord Lethbridge spring down from the other chaise, and he shrank back in his seat, his heart jumping with fright.
Lethbridge walked up to Mr Drelincourt’s equipage, and that shivering gentleman pulled himself together with an effort. It would not do for him to cower in the corner, so he leaned forward and let down the window. ‘Is it you, indeed, my lord?’ he said in a high voice. ‘I could scarce believe my eyes! What can have brought you out of town?’
‘Why, you, Crosby, you!’ said his lordship mockingly. ‘Pray step down out of that chaise. I should like to have a little talk with you.’